Dark Matter

OK…I’m starting to get excited now.

It’ll be good to see y’all.

I am nervous as hell about managing stress/time dilation/alcohol/poetry tag and most of all sleep deprivation.

See, I trace a lot of my most recent breakdown and worsening of the overall diagnosis to the disruption I went through at NPS 2003. That trip screwed my sleep cycles up so badly that I went into a tailspin right afterward and then it just got worse.

I’m on different meds now, vastly different meds; I’m far more conscious of what I need to do to align myself with health, too. Nonetheless, I worry.

I do hope I get to read at one or two side events.

I need to get out of the city one day and head to somewhere like Acoma or Mescalero. Acoma because the church there is such a sacred space, Mescalero because that’s where my dad is from and I need a peek at Sierra Blanca again. Although I’ve been in NM a couple of times since then, I’ve not been on the rez since 1990.

But I’m thinking Acoma might be more my speed this trip.

I’ll have a laptop with me so I can update LJ if I feel like it.

I am betting I won’t feel much like it.

And I’m counting on this trip to clear my head in a couple of important ways, in regard to a whole host of questions I’ve been thinking about. More, perhaps, about that later.

Right now, I’m just thinking of sunset on the Sandia Range…

If you don’t read javabill, go read his latest post.

NOW.

Print it out and bring it with you.

NOW!!!!!

but i’m very, very tired.

i am trying to get on a somewhat even keel before ABQ with sleep and all because i know how much i’ll be abusing my circadian rhythms while i’m out there.

on the list of things to do:
— read a poem or two here or there
— hang out with friends
— cheer on worcester, delaware, and bar 13
— rent a car one day, go down to the rez

i might drink something too, somewhere in there.

school this weekend — friday, saturday, sunday.

bringing my niece to poetry on sunday night!

I won’t be around much tomorrow.

classes 9-1 and 2-5.

let’s hope the seroquel wears off by 7:30 AM when I have to drive to work, eh?

It’s been requested of me (okay, well not really – it was an open tag) to do this thing where I write 15 statements anonymous to people on my friends list and then pick 5 people to do this, as well. Some of these may be directed at people who don’t even use their livejournals anymore, but here goes:

1. Slammin’ body, yo. Seriously.
2. Where the hell is the M-60 when we need it?
3. For the last time, I DID remember the talcum powder.
4. She went that way, and she said not to tell you.
5. Do I even have to say anything?
6. Dreadlocks, you imbecile! DREADLOCKS!
7. Forgetting those rubber bands in the Jeep was the smartest thing I ever did.
8. The left hand of God is actually in your back pocket. Mind your wallet.
9. I didn’t know they came that big. Or that thick, for that matter.
10. Love means never having to say you’re sorry.
11. I’m sorry.
12. Nothing a fifth of Jack and some Vienna sausages won’t cure.
13. Let me see if I’ve got this right: cut up the arm next time and it’ll bleed out faster? You’re a real pal. Thanks.
14. I’ve had my share of waffles in my time, but this takes the cake.
15. I mean it! I am a natural blonde! I just dye my hair to enhance my ethnic credibility.

Consider this a Quaker meme-tag: if you are moved to post it, post it.

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seem to have words for all sorts of subtle emotions, such as “Schadenfraude” (the pleasure one feels at the discomfiture of a friend) or “Gestalt” (the sense of the entirety of a situation, more or less — harder to translate).

Spanish, too; witness “duende.” And Portuguese: “saudade.” They both represent a sense of life enriched by the awareness of death and sorrow — the Spanish word is darker and more passionate, while the Portuguese is sweeter and more melancholy.

Is there a word somewhere for the intense desire for someone, anyone, to call you unexpectedly just to say they think you’ll be ok?

(No, that’s not a solicitation. Really.)

I love the idea that there are words uninvented in our language that have been invented elsewhere. Why in those languages and not ours?

What emotions do we need words for?

PS: You do realize LJ is the only thing keeping me going right now, right?

My buddy Skip is now on LJ.

Skip is the guy who knows where all the bodies are buried. Talented painter, art gallery owner, political activist…we’ve known each other since high school and before, and both live in the same small town we grew up in, trying to figure out why.

He is six days older than I am, and recently became a grandfather. (HA! Take that!)

Welcome to the madness, drgeorge.

C’mon, folks — come say hi, and lie profusely about yourselves.

I also didn’t eat much yesterday — an Atkins bar for breakfast, a cheese sandwich for breakfast.

I’m still not hungry.

(ASIDE: speaking of which, those of you who are celebrating the death of the lo-carb diet? please recall that different things work for different people. I used it on my doctor’s orders as a way to help control some vicious side effects from my meds. I lost 50 lbs. as an unanticipated result. I agree it was a fad, but I have to say it was one that worked for me. and I’ll never go back to another way of eating.)

I am not really sleepy either — more in a fog. I think i could sleep if i tried, but i’m not sure.

Seroquel barely dropped me last night.

This is definitely what they call a “mixed” episode — the racing thought and sleeplessness of mania, the depression of depression.

Random thinking. Don’t mind me — I jump between focus and scatter; witness the earlier poem, which worked well as a focus device; witness this post for a contrary example.

I do think I’m coming out of it a bit; but it feels fragile. I feel fragile.

apparently, we don’t need no stinking sleep.

(cue something blowing away in the wind)

as of now, 37 hours awake and nothing feels like sleep.

dear god. i’ve never had a manic episode like this. the racing thoughts and weird surges are beyond disturbing. suppose i wasn’t “controlled?” (smirk)

i’m gonna load up on one of the meds and knock myself down. if i can’t function tomorrow, i’ll skip work again and figure out the next step then.

there are times when nothing i do seems to work out.

i try to be a good guy, y’know; i try to make my life fit into my moral code.

the more i look at me, the less i like what i see. controlling, aloof, miserable, not comfortable in my skin.

this is not self pity. self pity is the poor me syndrome.

this is the cold recognition that i am responsible for all my shit. all of it.

poor me? bullshit. hate me. (you too. join in.)

at this stage of my life, you’d figure i’d have this figured out. and now that i look at me, i know better.

for the record, folks, i’m coming to nationals. i had planned to keep it a secret, make it a surprise, but i know better now; all that fucking drama? the joy of a dramatic gesture? bullshit. what ego.

but the NPS is the last place on earth where people still like me and think i’m a good guy. i hope to remember how to be that while i’m there.

for those who are a little freaked by me now: i am sorry. i will be better, i hope.

here are my steps:

therapist tonight. in-patient stint? maybe.
possible leave of absence from work until i settle.
resolve current living situation.
travel to ABQ.
hang moderately, as much as possible.
return and face shit, for real.

and if those are not enough?

well, let us see what shakes out.

still driving, still travelling, still thinking.

quick Kinko’s break for this.

am i ok? who can really say that? i don’t trust anything anymore.